Bring Yourself Back
by Trinity Everett
Summary: Following Castle's second run-in with Slaughter, Beckett pays her husband a visit at the PI office, and stays a little longer than she expects. Post-8x06. Posted for the Castle Pornado (aka Sexo de Mayo). Rated M.


**Bring Yourself Back**

 ** _A post-8x06 ("Cool Boys") story, posted for the Castle Pornado aka Sexo de Mayo._**

* * *

"So… Slaughter, huh?"

It isn't what she means to say, not the way she intends to greet her husband after not seeing him in over a week, but as she steps into his office and locks the door behind her – just to be safe, she reasons – it's the first thing that comes to mind, and she can't stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth.

Castle doesn't jump at her voice; it's either a testimonial to how tired he is, or he saw her coming on the monitors he'd had installed during the renovation. He gets to his feet regardless, looking so open and hopeful her heart throbs against her sternum.

God, she misses him so badly. Every atom in her body aches with it. The desire to have him near, the need to be wherever he is.

"Kate, hi."

"Hi, Rick." She steps closer, her feet moving before her brain can catch up and remind her to keep her distance. "Working late?"

Her husband looks down at his desk, tapping the newspaper in the center with his knuckles. "Not really. Just… reading."

"Ah." She nods needlessly, tugging her lower lip between her teeth.

"I thought you were out of town?" he blurts out when an uncomfortable silence begins to settle between them. Talking to her own husband shouldn't be this hard, this painful, and her head ducks to avoid the weight of his stare on top of everything else. "A conference or something?"

Almost immediately her eyes lift, confusion furrowing her brow.

"Ryan told me," he explains, his voice bland.

"Oh. I was, yeah. But the training part ended early so I bailed on the rest. The boring lectures were non-mandatory, or so 1PP told me." She lifts a shoulder, going for offhand with her next words, "We'll see anyway."

"Ah," he echoes her earlier reply, licking his lips. "Rebel."

Quirking a smile, Kate wets her own lips, the response almost automatic. He looks so good with finger-mussed hair, plaid shirt stretching across his chest, the deep burgundy accent lines making him look so broad, sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows…

"I thought you were giving up obnoxious gang cops for eternity," she asks without really asking, clearing the husk from her voice. She needs to focus on making sure he's okay; surrendering to the wall of his chest, the devastation of his kiss, will only make it harder to turn around and retreat to the empty, cold apartment she's renting for the time being.

Castle lifts a shoulder, feigning nonchalance. "He came to me for help. I wasn't going to turn him away."

Well that feels pointed. Maybe he means it to be, maybe he doesn't, but her stomach drops either way. It's the truth: he would help her with this – with anything. He would drop damn near everything, do whatever she asks, but she needs to come to him.

If only she could. Bringing him into this mess will just get him killed; she can't let him die because of her. Nobody else can die because of her, but especially not the man she loves most.

"Besides," her husband continues, looking away just long enough to let her know his choice of words had been deliberate, "he's actually not that bad. Crazy like I remembered, but there's another side of him, too. Did you know he cooks? And he knows show tunes better than I do? He studied musical theater in college! By the way, don't let him know you know that, though, because he probably will kill me if that one gets out."

Yeah, no thanks; she has no intention of becoming a widow, at Slaughter's hands or anyone else's. Still, her lips turn up picturing the gruff, jerk of a cop on stage making jazz hands.

"That's… wow. Who knew?"

His eyes dance, mischief returning to his gaze. "I know, right? And he was married once, too. Did you know that?"

Reluctant, her head bobs. It feels wrong stealing his thunder, but she won't lie and pretend she doesn't know that about Slaughter. "I read it in his file the last time you worked with him."

Castle nods, no trace of disappointment on his face, just excitement to share more. "We went to his wife's – ex-wife's – show last year. Did you realize that? Madelyn Corday, New York City Opera."

Well, he's got her there. She hadn't known that part.

"Wow," she breathes. "We did, didn't we?"

"Uh huh. Weird, huh?"

"Yeah," she laughs, remembering how amazing that night had been. They'd been back from their honeymoon for barely a week when Castle had sidled up behind her at the stove one morning and pressed a kiss behind her ear, presenting the tickets to her after she had shown no desire to squirm away. The entire day at work, she'd been humming with anticipation, and after a phenomenal show, she had been buzzing with desire for the man who made it happen.

Judging by the faraway look in his eyes, he's remembering things the same way.

Kate looks past him, forcing herself to mentally change the subject by eyeing the room to see what, if anything, has changed since that day they tried to lure the remainder of LokSat's strike team into a trap. It looks the same, mostly; there are maybe a few more gadgets and toys lining the shelves, an extra chair or two, but otherwise it's the same. Her eyes shift to the bar cart at the far end of the room.

"Care for a drink?" she asks, turning back to him.

His eyebrows jump. "Of my own scotch?"

Her lip finds its way between her teeth again. This is wrong, all of it is wrong. They should be standing in each other's space, offering teasing kisses, gentle touches that turn bold. Not making awkward small talk and pretending things are okay when they're so clearly not.

"You know what I mean," she murmurs. "Have a drink with me?"

Castle nods, stepping around his desk and making his way toward the cart.

Beckett cuts him off, touching his chest with soft fingers. "I'll pour."

Her husband's lips turn up. "Trying to get me drunk, Beckett? Because I'll have you know that I am happy to get a little wild with you _without_ the aid of fine scotch."

She doesn't dignify that with an answer, instead turning to pour their drinks, using the time to steady her nerves. Castle takes the glass from her hand once she's done, tilting his head toward the plush chairs adjacent to his desk.

"Shall we sit?"

Beckett eyes the chairs, but shakes her head. "Actually, can we sit in the other room?"

He seems to hesitate at the suggestion, but nods anyway, gesturing for her to lead the way to the inner office.

Almost as soon as she steps inside, she sees the source of his consternation and her heart sinks. One end of the deep green couch is covered by a pillow and a plush fleece blanket – the plush fleece blanket that used to reside on the back of her couch at her apartment before they were married.

He's been sleeping in his office instead of in their bed at home.

"Rick," she starts, watching him sweep past her and scoop the evidence off the cushions, tossing them into a heap on the floor.

"Forget about it," he rumbles, his voice gruff. "Have a seat. The couch is just as comfortable as it looks."

"I remember," Kate murmurs. She had been with him when he bought the thing. She'd been with him when he picked out most of the furnishings for the office renovation. She just hasn't been with him since, and that just _hurts_ to admit, even to herself.

"Right." Castle flops, somehow managing not to spill his drink in the process. "But you haven't had the opportunity to enjoy it yet."

Kate knocks back a hearty sip of her scotch, relishing in the burn of it on the back of her throat. He has a point; the one time she had been in the room after the makeover, she'd been too concerned with keeping everyone alive to appreciate the décor.

Forgoing the empty spot beside him, she hikes her skirt up her thighs and sinks onto his lap, allowing her knees to rest on either side of his hips. His eyes flare wide, his mouth falling open in surprise, but he doesn't push her away.

"Kate, what–"

"I'm taking the opportunity to enjoy it," she explains, leaving her glass on the end table in favor of cupping his face with both hands and pressing her mouth to his.

His breath hitches at the contact, his hands landing on her waist, curling tight in her shirt, as if he thinks he needs to hold on to keep here there, to stop her from yanking away and running.

Oh, Castle.

She can only press harder, tracing the fullness of his bottom lip with her tongue, hoping he'll open to her. He does, his groan rumbling through his chest, sending a shiver of want down her spine. Her hips rock, needy and restless against him, eager to find a rhythm – their rhythm, the give and take that's been uniquely theirs from day one. Always theirs.

"Slaughter said something else," he rasps, allowing one of his hands to abandon her waist in favor of tracing her spine, slipping into her hair. His mouth trails over her jaw, nuzzling her neck.

She gasps, holding his head to hers. "You wanna talk about Slaughter now?"

"I want you," he says without missing a beat. "Just you, Kate."

His mouth slips lower, moving across her collarbone and into the vee of her blouse, his breath caressing the slope of her breast. She arches into him, her hands falling to the soft plaid covering his shoulders, a gasp falling from her lips.

"You have me," she promises, dropping her face to his hair, her hips rolling against his.

His groan vibrates against her chest, spreading want deeper into her veins, but he takes his time, ignores the way her muscles coil with urgency. His hand falls from her hair, skimming her back, slipping down to her ass.

"I've always loved this skirt," her husband breathes, his hand flexing, caressing. "Always loved taking it off you, too."

"So do it," she challenges, pulling his head back to hers, her teeth grazing his upper lip as she gets to her feet. Her shoes make a satisfying thud against the carpet when she kicks them off, but she doesn't have time to see where they've landed before Castle's hands are on her again, rucking her shirt from her waistband, his mouth landing hot on her belly.

She strips the shirt off without hesitation, shuddering at the cocky grin her presses to her stomach, the delicate tease of his tongue at her navel. Desire zips under her skin, rocking her forward.

Nimble fingers slip to the small of her back, finding the hook and eye clasp of her skirt, making quick work of the zipper. He eases the fabric down her hips, allowing his fingertips to skim her thighs once it drops to the floor.

"Rick," she croaks, sucking in a breath when he looks up at her, his eyes dark with arousal, so impossibly deep.

Want shoots through her, a desperate stab of need that nearly knocks her back. There's so much she can't give him right now, but she can give him this – them. For tonight anyway.

Dropping to her knees, her fingers twist in his shirt, working the buttons free, pulling it off his shoulders, baring his chest to her. No undershirt today; he must be getting to the bottom of his clean laundry.

Not surprising since she had absconded with a few more of his t-shirts to sleep in, wanting to be cradled by his scent the only way she can be for the time being.

It's convenient now, at least, since her mouth connects with his skin instead of being stalled by another layer. Her husband's breath stutters, his hands tripping along her ribs to hold her steady, his thumbs doing just the opposite by dipping beneath the band of her bra.

He starts when she pulls away, opening his mouth to speak only to have her shush him with the slide of her finger over his lips. She wants his touch – god, does she crave the heat of his hands on her skin – but her turn will come; this is for him now.

"Sit back," she orders, replacing her index finger with her mouth, the swipe of her tongue. "Please, Rick."

Castle complies, but still his fingertips trip up her sides, over her shoulders. Always touching, always staying in contact, always finding ways to drive her crazy.

He arches into the hand she skims over his lap, his breath stuttering. Kate allows herself to smile against his skin; now she has his attention. His full attention, no less.

"Lift up," she orders, making quick work of the button and his zipper, slipping her fingers between the fabric to caress him through his underwear. His hips jolt, arcing off the couch at her touch.

"Kate," he murmurs, cupping the back of her neck. "Kate, you don't have t-"

Her fingers brush along his length, silencing the assurances. "I want to," she says, settling the matter on her end. "But if you don't – do you want me to st-"

"No," Rick insists, tugging her closer, sealing his mouth over hers. "Don't stop," he breathes. "Don't ever stop."

Something in her chest cracks, splintering at his plea. God, what is she doing to him, to them? Wrapping her hand around him, she strokes, deliberate and easy, purposeful in a way that's meant to show him what she can't always say.

"I won't," Kate swears against her husband's mouth, tugging his lip between her teeth. She strokes him again, teasing her thumb around the head of his cock in time with the flick of her tongue.

She's not sure what it says about her that the groan of her name settles the jackrabbit of her heart, but she's able to concentrate on him again, on the scent of his skin as she kisses his neck and moves down his chest, on the heat of him against her palm. She's in this moment once more, not wallowing in everything else.

Rick's fingers tangle in her hair as her mouth connects with his belly, tightening as she teases figure eights with her tongue. His skin jumps under her hand, clenches with the effort it takes not to squirm, and she hums, trailing lower, twisting her wrist the way he likes, delighting in his restless squirming, the energy thrumming just beneath his skin.

"Patience, babe," she teases, pressing open-mouthed kisses from hipbone to hipbone, exactly the way he does when he wants to drive her insane.

Her name spills from his lips again, strangled and urgent.

"Patience," she repeats, grinning into his skin when he growls. Patience never has been Rick Castle's greatest strength, except maybe when it comes to waiting for her, and she doesn't intend to make him wait much longer.

She never wants to make him wait too long.

Stilling her hand, her tongue makes a slow swipe along his cock, dragging from base to tip and back. Lifting her eyes to meet his, she repeats the action twice more before trailing her lips in a lazy arc around him.

Rick shudders, fingers tightening in her hair, the tremor in his grip telling her what he needs. She teases him again instead, enjoying the frustrated growl in the back of his throat as she ghosts her lips up his length, scratches her nails down his belly and over his hip.

Kate lifts her eyes to his, finding his pupils blown and dark with want. With need. She watches him swallow as she gives his cock a squeeze, offering him a wink before parting her lips and sliding her mouth down on him.

His hips jerk, but she ignores his babbled apology when she pulls back, pressing the flat of her tongue against him and taking him deeper. It's been too damn long since she's had him; she doesn't want him to be still, doesn't want him holding himself back, and her hand skims his thigh to coax him into letting go of his reticence.

Her fingers brush his balls and he bucks into her mouth, a curse falling from his lips. Unable to offer a full smile, Kate hums around him, tracing their initials on his skin when his head drops back to the cushion.

Want surges through her, forcing her to shift her weight, squeeze her thighs together. God, she loves seeing him like this, slowly losing control, because of her – because of what they do to one another.

"Kate," he pants, finding her cheek with clumsy fingers, drawing her up. "Want you with me," he insists, clearing his throat. "Please."

She considers teasing him more, telling him all in good time before trailing her tongue over his length and sinking down on him again and again to drive him over the edge like this, knowing he would make use of his talents elsewhere to return the favor for her, but there's a desperation in his voice that she can't deny.

Not when she's denying him so much already.

So she backs off, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock before trailing her mouth up his belly, over his torso. She catches his mouth in a sharp kiss when she reaches his lips, palming him again.

"I'm with you," she promises against his mouth, twisting her wrist for emphasis (and maybe to tease just a little bit) as his hands roam her back, his touch intoxicating.

He opens her bra with deft fingers, barely giving her time to release his cock and discard the undergarment before his hand closes around her breast. Kate groans, pressing into his hand, welcoming the touch, encouraging more. So much more.

Rick nips at her lip, banding his free arm around her waist, using the grip to tug her upward, into his lap once more.

"Fuck, I've missed you," he breathes, breaking from her mouth to slide his lips down her neck, across her throat. "I've missed you so much."

She arches into his touch, hands moving to his shoulders. "I've missed you, too. I've-ah!"

His lips close around her nipple, tongue sweeping it into a peak before he suckles.

"Rick," she breathes, hips rolling against his. God, she needs this, needs him. "Rick, Rick, Rick."

His hand drops low on her waist, dipping beneath her underwear to squeeze her ass, bucking his hips to meet hers. She gasps, opening her legs wider, sinking deeper into his lap, teasing her cotton-covered center over him.

His breath stutters against her breast, reminding her how thin his control probably is right now. It's been weeks, weeks since they last had sex – the last time they'd gone this long had been before their wedding, when he was missing and the weeks afterward as they found their footing again – and it's been too damn long.

She yelps his name at the first brush of his fingers, the tease over her folds, rocking into his touch.

He releases her breast, withdrawing his hand at the same moment. Her eyes pop open at the loss, but he doesn't make her wait, dotting kisses across her chest to pay the same attention to her other side, wiggling his hand between them and slipping into her panties, brushing his middle finger at the apex of her thighs long enough to make her shudder.

"Sexy," he murmurs into her skin, lifting his eyes to hers. "The flush on your chest, the look on your face, the way you feel under my hands… so sexy, Kate."

"Not trying to be sexy," she breathes, palming the back of his head, shifting her hips against his hand, wordlessly begging for more.

"Don't have to try," he argues, sinking one finger, then a second, inside her, pumping in time with the beat of her heart. Her head drops toward her chest, hands tightening on his shoulders. "You're just sexy."

She puffs a laugh, cups his ear. "Pretty sexy yourself, Rick."

"Flatterer," he breathes, flicking his tongue over her nipple as his fingers move faster, his thumb circling her clit. "I'm already going to sleep with you, Beckett; no need to butter me up."

Her laughter becomes a moan with another stroke of his fingers and an answering tug of his lips. God, she's so–

His thumb presses down and she shatters, digging her nails into the skin of his shoulders, holding his head to her breast as her hips buck into his hand.

She slumps against him, dusts clumsy lips to her husband's temple. "I love you."

Rick chuckles, turning his lips to her breast, withdrawing his fingers to her disappointed exhale. "I love you too, Kate," he assures, lifting her off his lap long enough to peel her underwear from her hips and stroke through her folds once again.

She shudders, rocking into his hand, into the warm lips he trails down her belly, parting her legs wider to grant him access he doesn't hesitate to accept.

The first touch of his tongue nearly buckles her knees.

"Oh god."

"Love me more now?" he teases, palming her ass to keep her steady. His mouth curves, tongue flicking through her folds, frisky and light.

Her hand tightens in his hair. "Love you more if you stop fucking teasing, Castle," she growls.

"I think I can manage that." He presses the flat of his tongue against her in one lazy stroke, only to pick up speed with each subsequent pass, driving her toward the edge again faster than she remembers being possible, humming into her skin as she cries out.

She tastes herself on his tongue when he returns to her mouth, kisses her with a fervor that steals her breath. His fingers slide into her hair, tangling at the nape of her neck as she stumbles back into his lap, knocking her knees against his in a clumsy attempt to straddle him.

Somehow, she manages to hit him square in the chest with her shoulder, landing in a heap on his chest as his back connects with the cushion. He just laughs, swallowing her breathless apology with the slide of his tongue, the squeeze of his hand on her thigh.

"I can handle it," he adds, catching her eyes. There's a seriousness in his gaze, swirling deep amongst the playfulness and lust. A promise, she thinks, an insistence that he really can handle whatever she throws at him, even if it's just herself.

Even if it's not.

Kate takes him in hand again, brushes her thumb over the sensitive spot on the underside of his cock. She watches his lips part, sees his eyes cloud once more, and presses a kiss to his mouth as she lifts to slide him over her folds.

Her name spills into the space between them when she gives up teasing, positioning him just right and sinking down on him without another word.

Her eyes flutter shut. God, she's missed this, the heat of him, the way he fills her.

"Open your eyes, Kate," he commands, his voice rough with desire, need.

Rick's fingers curl at the jut of her hips, holding her steady as she takes him deeper. She sucks in a breath at the gentle swipe of his thumbs, the touch so soft, so reverent, it clogs her throat.

His hips snap up the second her eyes focus on him. A moan tumbles from her lips, his name ragged on her breath, and she drops her hands to the back of the couch to brace herself as he sets a rhythm that's nothing short of punishing. Gone is the tenderness from before, in its place is raw, hard desire.

And it's exactly what she needs. She needs the grip of his fingers, the slam of his hips, the low rumble from his throat.

They both cry out when she tilts her hips, opens herself wider to him. His hips grind against hers with every thrust, sending starbursts through her vision.

"Fuck, Kate."

Her head bobs, the words stuck in her throat as he slips his hand between them and swipes his fingers over her clit, propelling her closer to oblivion once more. A shiver works its way up her spine, knocking them out of rhythm for a split second, but he rights them, he rights her.

"Again, Kate," he orders, circling his thumb over her, light pressure then firmer, alternating speed in time with his thrusts. "Come for me."

He's close, she can feel it in the whip crack of his hips, the desperation to bring her with him, the catch in his voice.

"With me," she says, palming his cheek and crashing her lips to his. Her next words echo his from earlier, "Want you with me."

That's all it takes. She yelps his name as he redoubles his efforts at her clit, his thrusts coming faster and faster. She shatters when he presses his thumb against her, nails biting into the fabric of the couch, and that's enough for the final thread of his control to snap. He yanks her down on his cock, hips still bucking as he spills into her.

After a moment, Kate remembers how to take air in and out of her lungs, and lifts her head to see him. Rick's eyes are closed, but his lips curl in a gentle, lazy, blissful smile.

"Hi," he rumbles, swiping his hand along her back. She shivers, tucking in closer to his chest.

"Hi."

She'll need to move soon, lift off him and find a towel behind the bar set up to clean both of them up before she goes, but for now she stays where she is. Prolonging her departure isn't the best idea, but leaving him like this isn't going to happen either.

"Do something for me?" she asks a few minutes later, not sure he's even awake to answer her, or to remember making an agreement. Rick hums in acknowledgement, thumbing the small of her back.

"Anything."

"Sleep in our bed tonight, not here in your office."

His hand stills, and she feels him swallow. She braces herself for an argument, for him to bring up everything that's hanging between them, but he doesn't. Not really, anyway. Instead, his answer is simple,

"I will if you will."

"I can't," she says, ignoring the sharp pang in her chest, the way her heart sinks. "Not yet, Rick."

"Then I can't either. And we'll stay here tonight." His tone suggests he's made up his mind and she's not going to change it, so she doesn't try. For the time being, she can stay. She can show him she _wants_ this, wants him, and them, and their entire life back. She'll just make sure to leave before Alexis or Hayley, or whoever he has helping him at the PI office, comes in in the morning.

"Okay," she agrees, brushing her lips over his chin. "Okay. But I call dibs on your shirt."

His chuckle takes her by surprise. She lifts her head, one eyebrow raised, to find him soft with affection. "I've seen my drawers lately; you've already called dibs on my shirts, sweetheart."

Her cheeks heat. She knew he would notice, but hadn't anticipated that he'd say something about the empty spaces in his bureau. "I'm – I'll bring them back," she fumbles, dipping her chin.

"Bring yourself back first," he says, sharper than she expects, but exactly what she deserves. His mouth catches hers, the kiss biting and sure.

Kate hums, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, keeping him close even after he releases her mouth. "I will, babe, I will."

Castle relaxes under her, burying his face in the curve of her neck. "The sooner the better."

She can't disagree with that, not at all.

Almost two weeks later, just nights after their anniversary and subsequent fights over her LokSat investigation, she slips into their bed wearing yet another one of his shirts, the forest green and black plaid this time.

She doesn't wear it for long, but it doesn't leave the room once it's off her body, and neither does she.

* * *

 _Prompted by allylobster what feels like a bazillion years ago: "In Cool Boys Kate gets back to NY in time to see Castle in that shirt, which leads to married people special time in the secret PI room."_

 _Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it!_


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